Edge of Twilight (7 page)

Brushing dirt off his hands, he took a look around.

There were crumbling plaster walls, broken floorboards, and cobwebs enough to weave a blanket. He brushed them aside as he walked through the place. A handful of pews remained, like the few remaining teeth in an old man's head. At the front, the floor was raised, but no altar stood there. He saw a door beyond the dais and went to it, forced it open, admiring the intricacies of the brass doorknob—an antique, no doubt, but tarnished to near black. The door had swollen, didn't want to budge, but he was a vampire and not in the mood to play. He shoved, and it popped open, immediately sagging to one side due to a missing hinge.

Edge stepped through. The room in the back was small, just a storage space, probably. There were shelves on the back wall, even a stray box or two, mold growing on the outsides of them. He reached for one of them, tugging it from the shelf. The wet bottom gave, and the contents spilled over his feet.

Candles.

He smiled. Perfect. Everything a vampire needed to feel at home. A trap-door in the floor led to the small basement. Barely room enough to stand. Dirt floor, stacked stone walls without a hint of cement to hold them together. Just flat stones piled atop one another on all four sides. He nodded in approval and moved back to the upper floor, slung his duffel bag onto a pew. Then he tugged one of the two remaining pews from its place, took it to the front, where the dais was, and set it dead center.

Returning to his duffel, he opened it and removed a smaller sack, carrying it with him. From the sack he took several small items and carefully, lovingly, set them in a circle on the surface of the pew. A bone-trimmed switchblade with Billy Boy's initials carved in the side. The
silver crescent moon that Ginger had worn in her ear. Scottie's gold pen. He'd had the soul of a poet. And the opal barrettes Bridget had worn in her hair.

Edge retrieved a handful of the candles from the back, used his lighter to set the wicks aflame and dripped wax onto the pew, then set them upright in it, so they wouldn't tip easily. He placed them in a circle around the objects and watched their fiery light dance over his odd little collection of keepsakes.

His family. These items represented his family. The only one he'd ever had. The only one he wanted, because God knew he wouldn't put himself through that kind of pain again. The people they represented were long gone. Hunted down and executed by a man named Frank W. Stiles. And Edge was closer than ever to finding him and, finally, exacting revenge.

 

“You look wonderful,” Amber told Will when he returned to the house.

“What, you were expecting otherwise?” He set his walking stick aside and gave her a hug, and she noted that his arms felt strong around her, powerful.

She smiled and hugged back, never admitting that she
had
expected otherwise. He had cancer, had been given a death sentence—she'd expected him to be pale and weak, to have lost weight. Not so. His hair hadn't turned gray. His face was harsher, more lines had appeared around his dark eyes, but they seemed more like laugh lines than age. And while his limp was more pronounced than it had been before, that could have been for any number of reasons besides the cancer.

“Don't look terminally ill at all, do I, kid?” he asked.

She winced inwardly but kept her smile in place. “You
look healthy as a horse. Guess it takes more than a little cancer to bother a Special Forces colonel.”

“Retired,” he said, retrieving his intricately carved and painted walking stick—one Sarafina had bought him on their recent trip to Africa—and limping to where his beloved sat. He leaned over ‘Fina, slid his hand over her shoulder, bent to kiss her neck. She closed her eyes. They'd been all around the world, the two of them. Privately, Amber thought it the most romantic thing she could imagine. And thank God, she thought. Thank God they'd had the time they had, to be together. Just in case they were nearing the end.

Amber moved around the table, pulled out the chair next to ‘Fina's. “Sit down, Willem, have some tea with me.”

He smiled at her. “It's been a while since I've had anyone to share tea with.” ‘Fina sent him a playful pout, and he patted her hand. “Not that I'm complaining.”

Amber poured, and Willem sat. His sharp gaze slid carefully over Sarafina's face, and Amber knew he saw something there. Maybe some clue of the emotional breakdown she had experienced during his absence. God love her, she'd pulled herself together in a hurry. Fixed her hair, her face, put on clothes. But Will knew her too well not to notice something was off.

Rhiannon sat, as well.

“So are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?” Willem asked when Amber set the tea in front of him.

Amber frowned. “Tell you what?”

He made a face, shook his head, sipped the tea and set the cup down. “Come on, kid. I know you. I know your so-called aunt there, and I know my wife. You've been plotting strategy.”

Amber licked her lips and averted her eyes.

“Don't do it, Amber,” he said softly. “Don't try to find Stiles.” Turning his gaze to Sarafina and then Rhiannon, he went on. “If he finds out where Amber is, he'll come for her. You both know he will. It's not worth risking her life on the slim chance you can save mine.”

“Don't you think,” Amber asked, “that decision should be left up to me?”

He met her eyes. “Suppose it works, but you get yourself killed? You expect me to live with that?”

“You risked your life to save mine, Will. I'm only returning the favor.”

“You're only a girl.”

She glanced down at the walking stick, where it leaned against the table beside his chair. Then she jerked her gaze up and across the room. The stick flew like a well-aimed spear, at a speed so fast it hissed through the air. Just before it sank into the wall, Amber flicked up a hand, and it stopped dead. She flipped her hand over, and the stick turned vertical, then sailed easily back across the room and right into her palm. She set it down on the floor, leaning it against the table. “I'm not
only
anything, Will. I may look young. I may
be
young, chronologically. But I'm a direct descendant of the most powerful vampire I know.” When she said it, she looked to Rhiannon. “You sired Roland, he sired Eric, Eric sired Tam, and all of you, together, saved my father from certain death when you gave him your blood to transform him into what you are. That blood runs in my veins. And I may not be a vampiress, but I'm not a human, either. And I'm stronger than any of you know.”

Will nodded slowly. “I know you are. But you've been sheltered, protected. You've never had to fight to survive, to kill or be killed, Amber. It's not something you pick up overnight, and it's not easy. No matter how strong you
are. Experience is worth as much as power. And while you have the latter in abundance, you have very little of the former.”

She held his gaze. He held hers right back, stubborn as ever. She said, “Rhiannon is taking some of my blood to Eric and Tam's tonight. They'll work on it in Eric's lab, with help and input from my parents and Roland. They might find the answers there. We don't necessarily have to bring Stiles into this at all, if he's even alive.”

“Oh, he's alive,” someone said. All eyes turned toward the doorway, where the two newcomers stood: strong, powerful Dante and his small, frail-looking companion, Morgan.

Dante's eyes went straight to Sarafina's, and their gazes locked. She trembled a little, rising to her feet, and Amber knew it was harder than ever for her to keep her emotions in check, now that her beloved Dante was here.

He swept forward, wrapping her in his arms. “I'm here for you, my precious ‘Fina. I always will be.”

“Don't make promises like that, Dante,” she whispered. “You know life is uncertain at best, cruel at worst.”

He closed his eyes, no doubt feeling her pain. Sarafina was a relative of his, an aunt or great-aunt, Amber thought, from the same Gypsy band. But in truth, they were more like siblings. They loved one another, fought with each other, then made up again, just as a brother and sister might do.

Amber waited until they'd parted. She'd never met Dante and his bride, though she'd seen all of Morgan's films. They were still being made today, even though she was supposed to be dead. Her sister had allegedly found trunks full of unproduced scripts, and Morgan had collected more awards posthumously than most screenwriters did while alive.

The films were great, too.

When the introductions were complete, Willem said, “What did you mean about Stiles being alive?”

Pulling out a chair for Morgan, Dante remained standing. “You know, of course, that Morgan and I are silent partners in her sister's investigations agency in Maine. We have…sources. On both sides of mortality. Stiles has been sighted numerous times since your encounter with him five years ago.”

“You have proof it was him?” Will asked.

“No. But there's enough circumstantial evidence to convince me.”

Will thinned his lips.

“You have doubts as to whether we should pursue him?” Dante asked.

“Of course he has doubts,” Morgan said softly. “Stiles is deadly, a threat to every one of us in this room. He nearly killed you twice, Dante. But he's most dangerous to Amber.”

Will met Morgan's gaze, nodded. “Thank you. I'm glad someone here sees the risk besides me. I really prefer we give Eric some time to work in his lab with Amber's blood samples before we even consider bringing that monster into this.”

“But you'll let us go after Stiles as a last resort?” Sarafina asked, her voice filled with hope.

“Don't even answer, Will,” Amber put in. “It doesn't matter if you decide to
let
us. If Eric can't recreate Stiles's formula, we're doing it.”

Will lowered his head. “Stubborn woman.”

He'd said “woman,” Amber noticed. Not “kid.” She appreciated that. “As stubborn as you are, Will. And far from ready to give up on you.”

“Even if we don't go after Stiles right away,” Morgan
said, “we can still begin doing some of the work of tracking him down. We've brought our files, everything we've been able to dig up on the man, and if you don't mind, we can set up a computer here, hook up to the ‘net and continue following the leads we dug up at home.”

Sarafina nodded enthusiastically, only to pause and look at Will. He nodded as well, sighing deeply. “Just be careful. I do not want word leaking out that Amber is here. It would put her at too much risk.”

Amber rolled her eyes when Dante said, “Agreed.”

“Now that you're all here,” Rhiannon said, “I suppose it's safe for me to be on my way. I will trust Sarafina and Amber Lily to fill you in on our
other
little complication.”

“We don't know he's a complication,” Amber said quickly.

“But we
will
find out,” Rhiannon replied.

As goodbyes were said, Rhiannon hugged Amber fiercely and whispered in her ear, “Do not let your guard down with that Edge character. He's powerful, child. Not old, but powerful all the same. And dangerous. I feel it wafting off him in waves.”

“He must be related to you, then.” Amber walked her outside to the waiting vehicle.

Rhiannon scowled. “If he wasn't up to something involving my favorite female in the universe, I might actually like the man.”

“I promise I'll be careful. And, Rhiannon?”

The vampiress looked at her, one brow cocked. “Oh, no,” she said. “You're
not
going to ask me to keep my knowledge of Edge from your parents.”

“I'm not going to ask you,” Amber told her. “I'm going to insist on it.”

Rhiannon thinned her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. “Amber…”

“They'd come with flamethrowers and machine guns firing garlic-coated wooden stakes shaped like crosses, if they knew. You know they would.”

Rhiannon smiled a little at Amber's use of every cliché, including those that had no more effect on the undead than on the living. But her smile died slowly. “They're going to have to know sooner or later, Amber.”

“I prefer later.”

“They'll hate him on sight, you know. Just on principle.”

“Then the later, the better,” Amber said.

“I don't know…”

“Rhiannon, Will had a point about my lack of experience. Let me do this. Let me figure out on my own just what Edge is up to and why he's homed in on me as his tool to get it.” She shrugged. “Besides, there's always a slight chance he might just be smitten. Bewitched by my beauty, captivated by my sharp mind and entranced by my infinite charms.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Rhiannon said, smiling. “As you pointed out inside, my blood
is
running in your veins.”

Amber rolled her eyes and watched as Rhiannon got into her Mercedes and drove away into the night. Then she turned toward the doorway, where Dante and Morgan waited—two vampires who had not, thank God, known her from birth and who did not, therefore, see her as a child but as she was.

She joined them inside, and being one of the only two mortals in the house, claimed she was tired and needed some rest. It made as good an excuse as any to slip out and stroll along the beach.

She rolled up her jeans, kicked off her shoes and waded through the ice-cold waves that washed up onto the sand and rock shore. But it wasn't a walk she wanted, and it wasn't solitude she sought, and she knew it.

She quieted her mind, then opened it, and put Edge's face before her eyes. It wasn't as if she didn't know his face intimately. She'd been seeing it for a long, long time now, in her dreams.

Silently, she called to him.

Immediately, he answered. And she got the feeling he'd been expecting her summons.